


Lost

by RK_Anon (Rochelle_Templer)



Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who (1963)
Genre: M/M, Pre-Relationship, angst with a side of cuddling, brief mentions of off-screen trauma
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-29
Updated: 2017-12-29
Packaged: 2019-02-23 11:54:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,301
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13189539
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rochelle_Templer/pseuds/RK_Anon
Summary: Set after Terminus. Turlough discovers that he's not the only one who is all too familiar with loss.





	Lost

Normally, Turlough preferred the dark.

Darkness was a place to hide. Darkness meant oblivion. It also meant freedom from pain, humiliation and the fear that came with exposure. It was the only sort of freedom Turlough had been allowed for years.

Now, darkness provided no escape at all. The Black Guardian was always there, ready to torment him, to force his will upon him and to punish him for every failure or act of defiance.

Even simple communication between them had become agony to Turlough. The sensation of white-hot needless growing and pushing their way through the nerve centers of his brain. It was a struggle to remain sane let alone coherent during the worst of it. It didn’t take long for Turlough to be convinced that his servitude to the Black Guardian could not get any worse.

Until today when it did. When it became so much worse.

A full day later, Turlough still wasn’t sure what had been done to him. He vaguely remembered the crystal glowing, pulsating, until it was like a condensed supernova. Then that white light seemed to burn through every fiber of his body, fear making the pain even more livid.

Then darkness. Darkness, but not oblivion this time. For even though he could no longer consciously think about it, Turlough could still feel the pain. He had no actual memory of it as it happened, but there was still an instinctual residue of it within him.

It was this lingering residue, both physical and emotional, that had kept him in bed the past day. It had been hours before he was well enough to say more than a few words at a time and even longer than that before he could actually sit up in bed. The Doctor had carried him from the console room to the sick bay and then to Turlough’s bedroom, a series of events that Turlough was actually glad he had no memory of either.  Not because he resented the Doctor for it, but because it was embarrassing and a bit frightening to think he’d been so helpless and vulnerable.

Turlough tossed back and forth in his bed. When he was awake, he could keep most of his discomfort from the Black Guardian’s influence at the back of his mind. Especially when he was around other people which was the only time the Black Guardian did not try to make his presence known.

When he was asleep, however, Turlough had no such protection. In fact, the portal into his mind was even easier for the Black Guardian to access. Turlough was betrayed by his own mortal fragility that required sleep in order to function. No amount of vigilance on his part could save him from what would inevitably come.

It was a kind of nightmare Turlough could have never imagined before now. Unfortunately, there were also the bad dreams that accompanied his possession. Dreams fueled by violence and hate, all of which horrified him down to the soul he had started to believe he no longer had.

There were also nightmares of reliving that punishment again. Of the Black Guardian taking over his mind and crushing everything that Turlough considered part of himself. Of an endless loop of anguish and isolation.  

Little wonder, really, that he sometimes screamed himself awake. As he had just now.

The lights in his room raised a little as Turlough opened his eyes, the TARDIS reacting to his current state. It didn’t comfort him at all. Being awake did not mean he was safe. Not while he was alone.

Turlough rolled over onto his side, his limbs folding so he could curl into a ball. It was only a matter of time before the taunts and demands would start up again. He squeezed his eyes shut, wishing for some darkness to hide in even though he knew it wouldn’t do him any good.

“Turlough? Turlough, are you all right?”

Turlough gasped and struggled to get his breathing back to normal. The Doctor. Of course it was.

“I’m fine,” he yelled back.

 Unfortunately, his voice was far too shaky to make that sound convincing. Thus, he wasn’t surprised when he heard a click of the door opening a few seconds later and then the soft step of plimsolls approaching the bed.

“Turlough, are you sure you’re all right?” the Doctor asked. “You’ve been unwell ever since we left Terminus. Perhaps we should consider finding a place where you can be treated.”

Gentle hands touched Turlough’s shoulder and forehead. They were cool and soothing.

“Your temperature has gone up a degree. Although, I’m not sure if that is a good sign or not.”

Turlough closed his eyes again. Truthfully, that rise in temperature was likely the Doctor’s doing. After the Black Guardian had finished with him, Turlough had felt clammy and had shivered on and off for hours. The only relief he had gotten was when the Doctor touched him, examining for injuries or trying to be comforting.

He had to fight the urge to laugh at the bitter absurdity. If he had simply killed the Doctor like he was supposed to, he wouldn’t need examining or comforting. He’d be free. He could go home. The Black Guardian would leave him alone. At least, that’s what he tried to tell himself.

It was all so simple. So easy.

_‘But I can’t….I can’t….’_

Turlough rolled over and looked up at the Doctor, immediately realizing that was a mistake. Maybe if he didn’t have to look at the Doctor, it would be easier to eliminate him. If he never had to see that open, honest face or the playful, encouraging smiles the Doctor was quick to give to him or the ever present concern in those ocean blue eyes. Maybe if he could stop himself from really seeing the Doctor, he could finally force himself to do what the Black Guardian wanted.

Not that Turlough believed any of that. The truth was, looking at the Doctor was only a reminder of why he couldn’t kill him. The mad brilliance, the boundless compassion, the strength and patience that could conquer time itself…it was all there in every line of the Time Lord’s deceptively boyish face.

Turlough had never cared for killing. Even war had not given him a taste for it although he had still been able to do what was necessary to defend himself and the people he served with. But the thought of snuffing out a life that shone as brightly as the Doctor’s repulsed him.

It also didn’t help that Turlough was beginning to feel…something toward him. Affection? Respect? Lust? Camaraderie? Maybe none of them. Maybe all of them. Turlough couldn’t be sure anymore. Whatever it was, it made him feel dirty for wanting to be close to the Doctor while he still conspired with the Black Guardian.

“I’m all right, really,” Turlough said, the words like ash in his mouth. The Doctor looked unconvinced, and Turlough was certain that he’d had to provide proof.

Turlough shrugged the Doctor’s hands away and began to sit up. He didn’t really want to move, but he didn’t want the Doctor being so solicitous toward him when he didn’t deserve it. His head was already starting to spin, but he persisted, lifting himself to his feet, his legs wobbling the entire time.

The victory was short-lived. Turlough felt the muscles in his torso clench and bile rise up into his throat. He gasped as the edges of his vision blurred and darkened. Turlough was certain that he was going to fall and began bracing himself for the impact with the floor.

Surprise and relief came when the Doctor caught him and gingerly maneuvered him back onto the bed.

“Right, you need to stay in bed for now, Turlough,” the Doctor said. “You’re still recovering.” He pulled a blanket up onto him, smoothing it down around Turlough’s shoulders. “Do you need anything else? Something to drink or…?”

“No, I’m fine,” Turlough said, feeling a little less fine every time he said it.

The Doctor nodded and turned to leave the room. Turlough felt a spike of anxiety race through him.

“Wait!”

The Doctor paused and turned back toward him, a questioning look on his face. Turlough felt his own face grow hot from embarrassment as he frantically searched his mind for something appropriate to say.

“Um…Nyssa and Tegan…are they all right?” he mumbled. He’d forgotten about both of them by the time he had gotten back to the TARDIS and had no memory of what had happened to them after that.

Now that he had asked about them, Turlough felt a renewed sense of guilt over involving them in the plot he was carrying out for the Black Guardian. They were just innocent bystanders after all. Much like the Doctor, really….

“Tegan is fine,” the Doctor said, sitting down on the edge of the bed. “The gas seemed to affect her less than it did you. And Nyssa…Nyssa decided to stay behind. So she could help the afflicted on Terminus.”

Turlough nodded. Staying on Terminus sounded like a hopeless, dreadful prospect, but from what little he had learned about Nyssa in the short time they traveled together, it wasn’t all that surprising. Nyssa was a lot like the Doctor: kind, trusting, always wanting to help, always wanting to fix what was broken. She was the sort of companion the Doctor deserved.

Unlike him. Turlough knew that he shouldn’t be here. It was wrong. He shouldn’t be allowed to be so near to the Doctor. To touch him and to be touched by him.

Turlough glanced over at the Doctor’s face. He was trying to hide it, but Turlough could see the loss there. Sadness and loss. He imagined that the Doctor had wished her well, but hadn’t wanted her to go just the same.

“I’m sorry,” Turlough murmured. It didn’t make sense, his apologizing. But it felt like something he should say. The Doctor gave him a wan smile in response.

“Nothing to be sorry about. It was simply her time to move on.”

Turlough nodded again. The Doctor really was doing his best, but he could sense the melancholy behind that statement just the same. Maybe he could fool Tegan with that attempt at bland cheer, but Turlough had had too much experience with surviving with a broken heart and soul.

His hand moved before he even had a chance to realize what he was doing. He placed it onto the Doctor’s hands which were folded on one of his knees. Then Turlough watched carefully to see how this gesture would be received.

The Doctor blinked and looked down at their hands, but said nothing. Taking that as encouragement, Turlough sat up again and scooted closer, eventually resting his head against the Doctor’s shoulder.

“Turlough….”

“Please stay,” Turlough said, hoping his voice didn’t sound too desperate. “I can’t sleep. And I…I don’t want to be alone right now.” Turlough placed his other hand underneath the Doctor’s lacing their fingers together. “And I don’t think you want to be alone either.”

This was also wrong. Even worse than what he was doing before. Turlough knew that he was only doing this so he could avoid the Black Guardian for a while. Or maybe it was to gain more of the Doctor’s trust.  Whatever he felt just below those motives…Turlough told himself it couldn’t be real. Not while he still had the goal of doing what he must to free himself from the Black Guardian.

In that moment though, none of that mattered to Turlough. Especially when the Doctor put an arm around him, drawing him close.

“All right,” the Doctor murmured into his ear. “But you should rest.”

Turlough lowered himself back down onto the bed with the Doctor laying down beside him. Eventually, Turlough ended up on his side facing the wall and resting against the Doctor’s chest. The Doctor draped his arm around Turlough’s waist.

Turlough closed his eyes. He could feel the Doctor’s warm breath on his neck and the steady rise and fall of the chest against his back. He wanted more, so much more, but even this felt like bliss after so long alone.

Well…not alone physically. On Earth, Turlough had been able to find an occasional willing partner to pass the time with for a night. Or maybe even two. Even that was lonely though, in the parts of him that mattered.

Just by holding him this way, the Doctor had done far more to address the need inside him than what those others had during those long nights of harsh, vigorous activity. Every particle of him ached to turn over and kiss those soft looking lips behind him. To touch the Doctor in places far more intimate that what was normally allowed. But he didn’t dare. Turlough knew better. The Doctor probably would too….

The Doctor moved his arm from Turlough’s waist and soon, Turlough felt a hand stroking his hair causing his insides to twist. He wanted this. No, he needed this. He needed it so badly, he couldn’t bring himself to tell the Doctor to stop because it was all a lie.

So he said nothing. He let the Doctor continue petting his hair and holding him close. Allowing him the fantasy of a companion who shared his pain and who wanted to make him feel better. Or at least a little less lonely.

Because somewhere, in a place Turlough was determined to keep secret from everyone including the Black Guardian, he wished he could believe in this fantasy too.  

Soon, Turlough relaxed, his body and mind soothed by the Doctor’s attentions, and snuggled closer to him as he finally started to heal.

 


End file.
